


Ante-Murder

by ObscuredTempest



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls III: Morrowind
Genre: Drabbles, Gen, M/M, because these are supposed to be flexibly also not shipping, category and warnings may change, marked for Gen and M/M because I can't sort my own damn life what do you mean, mentions of other characters in Nerevar's circle, or attempts at it, subtle shipping
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-11
Updated: 2018-11-19
Packaged: 2019-08-22 08:40:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16594580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ObscuredTempest/pseuds/ObscuredTempest
Summary: A series, drabbles of shared moments between Indoril Nerevar Mora and Vivec, before the Red Moment.





	1. Hiding

**Author's Note:**

> Most of these are intended to be flexible between subtexty or simple friendship. I can't guarantee I will always be successful, though. I think this one manages it, at least?

Vivec had long since sought out the best hiding places, when it came to secreting himself away with food or to nap uninterrupted. Nerevar's study? One of the prime locations, assuming the Hortator wasn't taking visitors—and that was less a matter of the junior counselor minding, really, and more actually an expression of some modicum of respect for the mer who'd taken him under his wing

_(for all that it mattered_ )

and given him shelter and food and a place to belong. And Vivec _liked_ Nerevar. He might not care about whoever _else_ was involved in such a meeting, but he sometimes had his priorities straight. Sometimes bothered to bow when appropriate. Decorum mattered in key places, but it wasn't really _his_ fault if he disagreed where those places _were._

Currently, though? Unoccupied. Vivec closed the door behind him and started on his task: moving furniture around so he could sprawl out adequately with his collection of stolen treats and flask. It didn't matter how long it'd been since he'd last _needed_ to steal to survive, sometimes old habits cropped up anyway. He popped a small rolled ball of meat and ash yams and he wasn't sure what else into his mouth as he adjusted his awkward (but comfortable) arrangement across the chairs.

It wasn't until later that anyone found him, and given his hiding place? Nerevar was the obvious one to do so. Nerevar, who'd been seeking to escape the hounding of his wife and the needling of politics. All he'd wanted was a bit of quiet to resort his own mind. Just enough space to breathe. His study had been the immediate thought, and after all, he could lock the door behind him.

Finding Vivec in there hadn't been too much of a surprise, either, and it drew a soft chuckle from the Hortator. Enough of one that, for one still used to sleeping only half-deep, it pulled Vivec to stir.

Neither spoke, not while Nerevar tried to arrange the furniture (that Vivec started moving only to abandon in order to devise his current napping place) into some semblance of order and utility. Vivec watched him, as he always seemed to (and Nerevar wondered not for the first time if it was the assessment of a thief or curiosity), but still said nothing. Once Nerevar was satisfied with the fact he could sit at his desk, he sighed.

“You'd think this place was yours with how easily you take over.” Chiding, gentle and without heat; Vivec was welcome, and Nerevar typically enjoyed his company. Vivec merely shrugged, plucking his stash of food from where he'd left it in order to rifle through it.

“You'd think you minded.” Easy, casual, expression neat as he remained focused on his task. A beat later, laughter from them both. Then, after a drawn out thoughtful hum: “Come here.” No manners, mouth half-full. Vivec beckoned with one hand, the other still picking through food until the Hortator drew near enough. Standing. At which Vivec's expression flattened despite the absolute lack of sincerity in it, and he swallowed. “I can't _reach_ from here, y'know.” Drawling, feigned exasperation, but he still held out one of the more charred meat-and-yam balls. Gods only knew why Nerevar _liked_ them burnt, but Vivec wasn't about to deprive him.

“You could sit up,” Nerevar pointed out, politely taking the offered food without commenting on it; Vivec sharing food was a rare gesture; for as long as he'd been with them, the former thief still was defensive over his stores, and Nerevar knew full well that Vivec kept dried rations tucked away in his things.

“Effort.” As if to prove the point, Vivec settled back down into his comfortable sprawl.

“Ah, yes. The truest enemy of the lazy.” It was the half-hearted glare that made him laugh, this time.

“I'm not _lazy_ , I'm _conserving energy._ ”

Silence before understanding all too well: “You ran from Lexi.”

“I ran from Lexi.”

It was either a miracle or the wonder of Indoril architecture that kept them from being heard out in the hall.


	2. Meal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shippy if you squint? Really this is just typical Vivec.

Candles burning low, a platter of food laid forgotten on the corner of his desk. Nerevar paced across his study only to return to his desk, to the papers strewn across it in varying states of what he'd deem “completed the first time through”. Every now and then, he'd raise a pen, write, set the pen down, and resume pacing. 

But enough was, really, enough. 

Watching from the doorway, less than impressed, Vivec finally pushed off to  wander  into the study only to stop by the mirrored platter. Frowning at it (and at the wasted food—well, mostly gone cold, still slavageable), he pushed a few of those papers out of the way in order to secure himself a perch. He'd have gone without moving them, but he didn't exactly fancy ink transferring to his clothing or his skin. 

And somehow, it'd gone from this to deadpanned, drawling chastisement and awkward defenses (which all fell short), to Nerevar seated and Vivec pushing food into his mouth while the Hortator worked. 

“Why are you doing this, again?” Nerevar stopped the hand just in his peripheral with a loose grip around the wrist. He looked up at movement, at Vivec tipping his head towards a shoulder. 

“Because you ignored your wife's efforts to be sure you were fed while locked up in here.” Vivec nodded towards the platter almost more with his mohawk than the movement itself. “So after her complaining about it,” Vivec didn't miss the tension in Nerevar's jaw, “I decided to come be sure you ate _something_. Even if it's not a proper meal the way she'd want.” Their marriage was rocky, Vivec knew 

_(had always known it would be)_

but Almalexia cared enough for her husband to be in good heatlh and up to the tasks demanded of him. Starving wasn't anywhere in Vivec's list of hobbies, either. So, that led to him hand-feeding the Hortator until he decided to stop long enough to _eat_.

“I could sit here all day feeding you like some adoring consort, but you really _should_ eat a meal, you know.” Vivec's tone started to drag. “You're always shoving _extra_ at _me_ , so s'not like you're ignorant of that need.”

“You were approximately a _skeleton_ when we met, Vivec,” Nerevar countered, even as he conceded to the dried hackle-lo-wrapped saltrice ball (concealing a bit of picked gorapple, as it turned out) being wiggled in his face between impatient fingers.

“ _That_ , serjo, is _hardly_ the point.” Vivec took the half of that ball of salt rice and pickled fruit away in punishment, popping it into his own mouth, instead. He didn't bother to finish swallowing before speaking. “Was more to me than _that_ , anyway, thank you.”

While this was maintainable, between the banter and Nerevar knowing full well the truth in the chiding, Vivec soon grew bored. And with boredom came efforts to make things more interesting. And with each effort came distraction in the form of laughter and dismissal and, after offering a strip of dried meat from between his teeth, Vivec being pushed away with a hand across his eyes to not quite smear the carefully applied kohl.

Vivec ended up eating that on his own. Not that it meant he was finished. He'd come in with a mission in mind and he was set to complete it: making sure the Hortator consumed at least the _equivalent_ of a full meal, even if it didn't turn out to really be one and was mostly more travel-ready- and finger-food.


	3. Fo(u)nd

He'd been catty, sharp, and distrustful. He'd been a menace to the others and disinclined to listen to anyone but Nerevar. So it was the new recruit to the canvasari was by _far_ the most difficult to deal with, even though he was absolutely dedicated.

Not to the canvasari, but to its captain.

Vivec curled on his side, propping himself up on an elbow, fist at his cheek, as Nerevar sat in the firelight, thin brush dragging three-quarters dry over parchment for a moment before he thought to load it. Vivec couldn't read so he didn't try, instead satisfying himself by watching the movements, watching the shadows and light and their interplay across Nerevar's not-quite-right features. Somewhere they were alike, then, to speak nothing of the paths they were to take. And Vivec _knew_ those paths as surely as he'd seen them flash in starbursts against his eyes and the back of his skull.

It wasn't long before Nerevar caught him, but it didn't matter. Vivec merely smiled, subdued but _knowing_ because he _did._ And he teased an offer that made his captain's ears turn red and his brush still before, stammering, he managed to get himself back on task and (more politely than before, Vivec noted) turned him down.

It was funny enough that Vivec had to laugh, accent dragging his sounds sideways as he chided Nerevar for his prudishness. It was unbecoming of a Chimer, he'd said, though it'd only been half-true. It wasn't really unbecoming at all—it was a damned _blessing_ after the way Vivec had been living before—but it was unusual. Others approached him, knew where he'd come from, and Vivec had eventually gone to Nerevar in order to avoid it further. He wanted to be _more_ than that, than a whore and a thief and something for _others_ to use. He _would_ be more than that. He'd seen it. Even if the path to reach that point was spotty and not yet entirely clear, he would reach that point. Nerevar would help him, just as he would help Nerevar, and they would change _everything_.

Though for now, Nerevar kept Vivec close to his side to keep him from the others. To keep him some modicum of safe, even if Vivec would insist he could defend himself (and Nerevar knew that, had seen how he wielded the strange hook-spear, knew that there was little brutality the former urchin shied from). But he still stayed close. It was a strange feeling, to be safe.

He almost jolted when fingers passed over newly regrowing hair, short and wispy and not yet in need of taming. Close enough that he could feel warmth on his scalp, the way the Ritual kept skin smooth, and Vivec watched Nerevar again. Curious, this time.

But it was the smile that made him look away.

Nerevar Mora had no business smiling like that.

Theatrically, Vivec flopped down flat onto his bedding and rolled over, facing away from his captain and his writing and the fire.

It made his chest hurt to think about.

 

Later, much and more and so distant later, it would be moments like this that haunted him.


End file.
